


le plus petit au

by theangelswans



Category: Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Drabbles, Gen, a lot of these focus on holland cuz he's my son, cw: suicidal thoughts, i guess this could be kell/lila but it doesnt focus on them, some are au post acol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 14:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15390297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangelswans/pseuds/theangelswans
Summary: A collection of adsom drabbles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am with some adsom drabbles mainly focusing on my child Holland Vosijk

Kell leaned back against the wall and sighed, knowing that he was thoroughly and completely screwed. The back of his head hit the wall and he raked a hand through his wild red hair, trying to think of what to do, while those words bounded around in his head like a tornado.

_Take me back to White London_.

Holland had said nothing more than that, just sat and stared vacantly at him from his spot on the overly large castle bed. It made him look small, and there was something about that that Kell didn’t like. And with his tired eyes and the resigned set of his shoulders, Holland looked hollowed out, just like the nickname some of the guards used to call him. Now they called him different by different names, and none of them kind, even if it was Holland who have saved them, Holland who had sacrificed the only thing he believed he had in order to trap Osaron. It made Kell want to scream.

He could hear the rest of the sentence that neither of the two had to speak. So he left. Kell had walked out of the room without answering Holland’s request—Kell forced himself not to think of it as his last request—although his actions spoke for themselves. He wasn’t going to just let Holland _die_ in those woods, or anywhere at all for that matter. Not now. Not after everything they had just been through.

They had just gotten the city back from Osaron’s clutches, and had almost faced their deaths. For a moment, Kell thought they might have. But they managed to trap Osaron inside the inheritor, no, Holland had trapped Osaron and saved everyone. Saved not one world, but two. He didn’t deserve to die, and Kell certainly wasn’t going to let him.

Tieren was working on transmuting Osaron’s body (what was left of it, anyway) into a form of pure, useable magic, so they could give it to white London and hopefully restore the magic there. It was idealistic at best, but they thought it was the least they could do. Kell was proud of Rhy for being the first king in a long time to actually try and mend fences between red London and white, instead of only wanting to and doing nothing about it.

Rhy was planning what to do about the city rebuilding after the attack, and the rest of the magic priests were getting ready to wake up the populace from their sleeping spell. Holland couldn’t just _leave_ right when everything was getting back to the way it should be.

_Selfish, selfish_ , Kell thought. But he wasn’t going to be the one to help with his friend’s demise. He didn’t want Holland to suffer, but he knew he was stronger than this. He had always been the stronger one, so he couldn’t just—

“Hello Kell,” Said Tieren, rounding the corner of the hall.

Kell dropped his hands to his sides, not even realizing that he had been tearing at his hair. His expression was drawn and exhausted, one that reflected in Tieren’s tired eyes. He gave the man a polite nod.

“Is it your brother?” Tieren asked.

He didn’t bother asking if Kell was okay because he was wise enough to know that he wasn’t, and didn’t waste any time. Kell sighed again and shook his head.

“Holland. He’s dying,” said Kell.

Tieren didn’t seem the least bit surprised by Kell’s blunt comment. His eyes warmed with sympathy, as if he knew all that Kell was feeling. Kell wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

“He lost his magic,” said Tieren.

Kell tore himself away from the wall. “That’s not enough to kill somebody!” he shouted, then forcibly tried to calm himself.

“I know,” Tieren said. “No one I know of has ever died from a loss of magic, but there could be other factors…” he trailed off as he saw Kell’s expression darken. Tieren set a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do about the magic,” he said, and Kell’s eyes shot up to meet his with a glimmer of hope. He gave Tieren a grateful smile.

“I can’t do much about everything else,” Tieren said, “the rest is up to you.”

Kell knew there was a lot more than just the loss of magic that had built up to Holland’s current state, even if he didn’t quite know the extent of it. He had always suspected there was something wrong, especially after the Danes came into power, though he had never been able to do anything. Kell cursed himself now for not even bothering to ask.

“Thank you,” he said to Tieren, and the man let go of his shoulder. He gave Kell a meaningful glance over his shoulder before walking away.

Kell fell back against the wall again, but resisted sagging down to the floor. He made fists with his hands and, with his resolve strengthened, he set off down the hall.

—

“Are you here to take me home?”

Those were the first words out of Holland’s mouth as soon as Kell and Lila entered the room. Bland and dry, but carrying such weight. Holland sat up on the bed, his hands laid out on the red sheets, watching the two of them with bored disdain. He didn’t look sad or angry, though it was Holland, Kell thought, and he had never been one to express those sorts of things. Even when Kell stormed out of the room earlier, Holland hadn’t screamed at him to come back, or shouted that he was selfish for not giving him just this one thing. He didn’t get emotional. And yet, the silence was worse.

“We brought you some soup,” Kell said quietly, avoiding Holland’s gaze and watching Lila out of the corner of his eye.

She stood at the foot of the bed, one hip cocked, arms crossed over her chest. She still had her daggers strapped to her waist and probably in her tall boots as well, and it made Kell nervous to have them so in reach. Illogical, because he knew Holland wouldn’t try anything that drastic, but the worry was still there. Especially since he didn’t trust either Holland or Lila with knives right now. He set the soup on a tray and gave it to Holland. The man didn’t touch it.

“Kell,” Holland intoned, neither as a question or an exclamation. He didn’t even look up at him, instead looking down at the soup.

“No,” Kell replied immediately, pouring the _Antari_ a glass of water.

Lila gave an impatient huff. “He’s not going to bring you back to your creepy London so you can just lay down and die, you insufferable—”

“Lila,” Kell warned. Lila shot him a glare.

Holland tilted his head back, looking vaguely amused. “Oh?” he questioned, goading them both into continuing. Kell hated him for it.

Kell put the glass of water on Holland’s try next to his soup. He looked up to meet his eyes, dull with a sense of bored condescension. “I got Tieren trying to make something for you. for your magic,” he gestured vaguely, “like a remnant of the _Antari_ rings, you’ll be able—”

“I don’t want it,” Holland cut him off.

Kell was stunned. “what?”

“I don’t want my magic back. All its ever brought me is pain.”

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Kell tries his very best.

* * *

 

“I’m your friend. Of course I care.”

Kell looked him, so earnest it was almost pitiful. Holland scoffed derisively and turned his head away, instead choosing to look at the wall.

“Friend?”

The word twisted in his mouth, jagged and broken in his voice, thick with scorn. He didn’t believe it, and he felt this same sense of—what, _anger?_ rising up inside of himself just as it did whenever Kell insisted that they were the same, that they were somehow more than just linked through being two of the same kind of magician. They were nothing alike at all.

They weren’t friends. Kell was an idiot, thinking that they could just band together like long lost brothers when they had nothing in common other than their magic and their eyes. Holland knew that friends made you weak, that it meant you had something to _lose_ —

Images of Vor flashed in his mind, of him choking, dying, dying—

Holland tightened his hands to fists and tamped down the memories into the black reaches of his mind. He had been storing quite a lot of things there that he didn’t want to think about.  

“Yea,” Kell said, quietly, like a breath of air. He looked unsure of himself but not of his answer, and determined as ever not to just leave him alone.

Holland gave him a bland look.

“I know you don’t think I care about you, but I do,” Kell added.

_He is a child_ , Holland thought, _he doesn’t know what he’s even saying_.

“I know you do,” Holland said, to which Kell looked slightly taken aback, which to him was victory enough. Holland didn’t feel better about it. “I just don’t _need_ it.”

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which it is never a good idea to attack two Antari, as people have apparently not learned.

 

* * *

 

_It was a mistake_.

That’s what Kell imagined their attackers were thinking, just as soon as they made the decision to go after him and Holland. From the looks of it, they weren’t common street thieves, like those Kell had expected to find in this ramshackle port town. Those were the type that lurked around the edges of the waterfront, or the shadows in the alleys, hoping to steal just a few silver lin to buy their next drink.

Kell took a step forward and looked down at the bodies splayed on the gravel.

They weren’t pirates, the kind that weren’t blessed with the magical prowess he was, or the stature of his brother that prevented him from living a life in the streets. Kell had never really paid them any mind, as they had been just nuisances he barely noticed. But now, after everything that had happened, he was beginning to see dark edges to the land he called home, the one he loved so much. Magic ruled here. People born with little magic, or none at all, were doomed to roam the streets, begging for scraps or being forced to take them.

But these weren’t those people, either.

“They were sent for us,” Kell said.

“I know,” Holland intoned, in a clipped voice that clearly didn’t care for Kell voicing the obvious.

They were assassins of some sort, Kell was sure. Or some sort of mercenary from Faro sent to capture him, the _Antari_ , the key to the city. Kell wished people would recognize that it wasn’t him keeping the city together—it was his brother. Rhy was the truly powerful one, restoring all of red London in half the time it would have taken if anyone else, including Kell himself, had been ruling. But, if they thought Kell was the one worth taking, he would play that role if it kept Rhy safe. Even if he couldn’t technically be killed.

Kell toed one of the bodies and flipped it over onto its back so he could get a look at its face. It was a man, a couple years older than Holland, with rough black stubble on his chin. He had landed ungracefully splayed over another mans body so the two made an X on the ground. They had come out of nowhere, jumped out from behind them and began wielding the seawater up over the wall and onto the boardwalk, trying to sweep Kell up. There were almost a dozen of them, and they were pretty skilled, although that was expected of Faro to send their very best.

Holland had killed them all in minutes. Kell barely had to lift a finger.

He wasn’t surprised, as he had seen the man’s skill before and had fought against it. He would be lying though, if he said he wasn’t a little shocked by how quickly and effortlessly Holland had done it. Holland’s body launched into the air and blood mixed with sea spray, then it was over.

Holland crouched over the bodies. He hadn’t risen since he had killed them. His head drooped and hands were placed in front of him, fingers splayed in the dirt and glistening red with blood. His whole body was still, and his breathing was only a little more fast paced than usual because of the exertion, but Kell could still tell something was wrong.

“Holland?”

He didn’t know what to do.

“What?” Holland asked. His tone was flat, but Kell could sense a quiet undercurrent of anger that told him he needed to be careful with his words here.

“Um…”

He couldn’t very well _ask are you okay?_ Could he? He shoved his hands into the pockets of his peculiar coat. It was a red one today, to blend in with the city, but the color was so similar to the blood on Holland’s hands that it nauseated Kell.

“I—”

Kell barely had time to open his mouth before Holland was on his feet, quick as ever. He spun around and began walking back in the direction of the castle.

“We should go,” Holland said.

His back was ramrod straight as he walked, movements too stiff. Kell ran to catch up beside him.

“Wait!” he called.

Holland stopped and turned around. “We need to alert the king of this.” He never used just _Rhy_.

“Holland!” Kell shouted. “Are you alright?”

That stopped him. Holland stood stock-still in the middle of the street, though he moved his hands from behind his back so that Kell couldn’t see them.

“Of course. I’ve done this before,” he said without emotion.

Kell sighed, and his shoulders drooped a little. “You know I’d never judge you for that right?”

Holland flinched. It was minute, a flick of the shoulder, a tick in the jaw. But even with his back to Kell, Holland couldn’t hide everything like he so desperately wished.

“Look, we’ve all done bad things,” Kell said, brushing a hand through his red bangs as if he could brush away his mistakes, “We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of.”

Kell took a few steps closer, but Holland didn’t move away from him, which he took as a good sign.

“But whatever you’ve done, whether it was your own will or not,” another flinch, though Holland controlled it more this time, “It is not your fault.”

Kell came up behind Holland and stepped around his side, putting a hand lightly on his shoulder. Holland smacked it away, turning to face him and backing up within the same instant. His eyes were wide and fierce, but there was something fearful in them too.

“Shut up,” Holland snarled, turning away to begin walking toward the castle again.

He was going faster this time, but Kell tried his best to keep up. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friendly reminder that Kell has probably killed more people of his own free will than Holland has


End file.
